


Second Place is the First Winner

by sissy_bloke



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: After Worlds, F/F, Fluff, becommissar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 13:49:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4921972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sissy_bloke/pseuds/sissy_bloke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Kommissar does *not* like losing. To console herself, she aims to take advantage of the Bella Leader's sexual confusion. It does not go how she expects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Place is the First Winner

**Author's Note:**

> I like Jesse, but he makes things complicated, so I just ignored him. Assume they broke up already.

The Kommissar did _not_ like losing. She was adept at hiding it though, so she was gracious when accepting their second place trophies, and she had even managed to congratulate the Bellas. All except that tiny elf that they called a leader _._ The Kommissar would deal with her later.

 

Escaping the ignominy of having to be around the team that had bested her, she wandered over to one side of the reception hall they had gathered in and stared at the tiny woman who had orchestrated her defeat.

 

Watching her bite her lip nervously, Kommissar was reminded of the flustered way the woman had responded to her own presence. Suddenly struck by an idea, she smiled predatorily. Making the little Bella lose all control would be consolation enough for the sting of losing.

 

Back in her room to change out of her costume, she paid special attention to her outfit for the evening. Tight black pants. Knee high boots, all straps and buckles with thick soles. A backless red halter top. And of course, her signature matching red lipstick. All carefully chosen to capture the attention of a certain brunette opponent.

 

As she swaggered out of the room, nobody would guess that she had just come off second best. Kommissar was going to go and get her _own_ first prize.

 

As she swept into the after party, her gaze flicked around the room, but she could not locate her quarry. Well, the hunt could wait.

 

She accepted a sparkling water – she wanted to remember this night with crystal clarity – and circulated amongst her team. She had always been the consummate captain, knowing exactly what each member needed: a word of encouragement here, constructive criticism there, a reprimand or goad for another. In this way, she readied her people to move past this defeat and on to their next victory.

 

But part of her mind was always occupied with her plans for the night, and she swore that she could feel on the back of her neck the exact moment when Beca Mitchell entered the room.

 

She forced herself to wait long moments before allowing herself to turn and her eyes to seek her out. She was the one in control, after all.

 

When she finally turned casually her feeling was confirmed: Beca Mitchell _was_ here. And watching her. She stepped away from the person she was talking to and slipped onto the dance floor.

 

She danced by herself, moving her body with all of the skill that had allowed her to choreograph Das Sound Machine’s trophy-winning performances. She found that a space was forming around her, other dancers watching her.

 

But those eyes meant nothing to her: she was dancing for the attention of one person only. So every time her moves brought her round so she could see that one person she looked over from under her lashes. And every time, she was gratified to see those eyes on her.

 

She continued to dance, revelling in the feel of that gaze on her body.

 

The next time she turned to face her target her gaze came out from under her lashes and landed on the Bella overtly. She stared into the woman’s eyes as she moved, and though the lighting was bad, she thought she could see a blush grace that face before the woman turned away hurriedly.

 

Kommissar smiled to herself: this was going to be too easy.

 

Every time she turned and raked her eyes over the little brunette she found her gaze returned – for a second or two – before the other woman looked away embarrassed. Kommissar was surprised to feel herself charmed by that shyness.

 

The next time she looked over, however, she found only an empty space. She darted her eyes round the room agitatedly, just in time to see a slim figure making an escape out onto a balcony. She smiled to herself: this was just getting better.

 

She took time to go to the bar and order two glasses of champagne. The best champagne they had. One drink would not cloud her memory of this night, and champagne was a weapon in the arsenal of seduction. Then she walked to the door to begin the next phase of the hunt.

 

The balcony was large and had a few other people on it, which was disappointing, but it was much quieter than inside, and Kommissar was focussed only on one woman who was standing by herself in a corner looking out over the city. Perfect.

 

“Ah, it is the tiny kicker of assess,” she greeted, supressing a smirk at the other woman’s startled jump.

 

“Of _course_ you would follow me! What are you even doing?” the Bella huffed in irritation.

 

“I have just come to congratulate you on your victory,” she said. “Of course, it was a cheap appeal to sentiment. How very American. But still, congratulations.” She presented a glass of champagne. It was ignored.

 

“Goddamnit! For someone so utterly, stunningly perfect, you really are a bitch! Can’t you just be happy that we saved the Bellas?”

 

Kommissar paused a little at that. She hadn’t given a thought to what losing would have meant to the Bellas. She felt her resentment slip the tiniest bit.

 

“Seriously. Can’t you just congratulate me like a normal person? Even that overgrown manchild you call a partner managed it!” This was accompanied by an icy glare that challenged her to reply.

 

“Beca,” Kommissar tried the name for the first time, lingering over the syllables to watch the effect on their subject. She was rewarded with a shiver and she watched the ice melt. “I do not have a partner, but if you mean Pieter, he is my partner in only a business sense.”

 

“Why are you telling me that? Why should I care? Why should I care that you’re available, and single, and available, and unattached, and available, and I don’t even care!” Beca now took the offered champagne and took a big gulp.

 

Kommissar laughed, slightly surprised to find that it was in genuine good humour with no mockery in it.

 

“Do I make you nervous?”

 

“No, you don’t make me nervous,” Beca snapped. “You make me annoyed and frustrated and turned on and… did I mention annoyed?”

 

Taking this as her cue to press harder, Kommissar took a step forward, well into Beca’s personal space, no longer brushing aside the other woman’s awkward confessions as she had in the past.

 

“Tell me again what I make you?” she whispered.

 

“You heard me,” Beca said stubbornly, ducking her head. Kommissar reached up to tilt her chin up and then brushed back a strand of hair that had dropped over Beca’s face.

 

“Sehr seidig,” she whispered before she could stop herself; _so silky_. The little Bella’s tendency to blurt out the first thing that came into her head seemed to be catching, but at least Kommissar hadn’t said it in English. “Yes, I heard you,” she covered her slip. “You said annoyed…” she moved her fingers from the other woman’s hair to trace a smooth cheek. “And frustrated…” her fingers moved from stroking to oh so gently cradling Beca’s face, then she dropped her voice even further and moved her lips within a hairsbreadth of her ear: “and turned on…”

 

“Okay, all right, you turn me on! But so what?! Of course you turn me on! You’re freaking Venus made flesh and I have eyes and a heartbeat, okay?! So back off!”

 

Kommissar did so, leaving the other woman panting after her outburst. For the first time that evening, she didn’t know what to do next, so she simply stared.

 

“What are you even doing?” Beca resumed yelling at her. “You could have literally anybody you wanted. Why are you even bothering with me? What game are you playing at?”

 

She didn’t know what to say to that. What _could_ she say? _I want to make you beg for me until I feel better_? Suddenly that didn’t seem like such a good idea, and she had the horrible feeling that she was completely transparent to the other woman.

 

“Ich weiß es nicht,” she said, surprising herself. _I don’t know_. When Beca stared at her blankly she tried to cover her confusion: “You interest me, tiny elf.” That at least was true, if not much of an explanation.

 

“Really?” Beca asked sceptically. Then she tangled her fingers in the front of Kommissar’s shirt and pulled her forward until their lips met.

 

Kommissar managed not to gasp at the contact, but she opened her mouth to deepen the kiss. She didn’t know what Beca was doing. She didn’t know what _she_ was doing, but at that moment she didn’t care. One arm came round Beca’s waist without her willing it, and the other moved to cup the back of her head, fingers sinking into the hair that she had found so silky.

 

When Beca finally pulled away, Kommissar could do nothing but stand there gasping, although she managed to stop herself moving forward to recapture those lips.

 

Trying desperately to regain her façade of control, she bluffed: “Not bad, tiny Bella.”

 

“Ugh! You are so infuriating! If you weren’t so ridiculously beautiful and talented and perfect I would hate you! You make me crazy!”

 

Before she had a chance to respond, Beca had grabbed the front of her top again and was dragging her off the balcony and through the party towards the doors. Kommissar was helpless to resist.

 

“Beca! What are you doing?!” came the yelp as they passed by Beca’s co-leader and the rest of the Bellas.

 

“Chloe, she’s driving me crazy! So we’re going to my room and I’m going to scream at her some more. Then I’m going to make _her_ scream – my name.”

 

“Oh Gott, das ist heiß” Kommissar couldn’t help but say. _Oh God, that’s hot_.

 

“I said that out loud, didn’t I?” Beca said, appearing mortified. At Chloe’s dumbstruck nod, she added “Well, she does. I’m going to… I’m… We’re… I’m just going to go now.” She resumed her tug on Kommissar and they made it out into the lobby.

 

They had gotten into the elevator before Beca turned around, face still bright red from embarrassment. She let go of her grip on Kommissar’s shirt. “Um, sorry. I shouldn’t have… You don’t have to… I’ll just go…” She appeared to have lost her momentum.

 

Kommissar took over, pushing the smaller woman against the wall of the elevator and bringing their lips together urgently. When she felt Beca return the kiss with equal fervour, she picked her up and rested her on the rail, supporting her between the wall and her own body, and then she felt legs wrap around her waist, and arms wrap around her neck, and she had never felt so powerful.

 

“It will be you, little elf, who will scream _my_ name tonight,” she predicted, as they pressed their foreheads together, gasping for air.

 

“No, it won’t be…” Beca said slowly, and she must have seen something, some hurt, in Kommissar’s eyes because she hastened to explain: “I don’t know it.”

 

“Luisa,” she whispered. “My name is Luisa.”

 

“Luisa…”

 

“Ich mag meinen namen auf den lippen,” she said softly. _I like my name on your lips_.

 

“What…?”

 

“Nothing,” she brushed off, feeling too vulnerable.

 

“Luisa? Kiss me.”

 

She obliged.

 

They had been kissing for some moments before they realised: “Luisa, this elevator’s not moving.”

 

She could only stare dazedly at the elevator doors for a moment before “We didn’t press the button.”

 

“I’m on five,” Beca said breathlessly. “I’m sharing with Chloe but, uh, after just now, I think she might figure I need some privacy.” The blush returned.

 

“I have my own room. Come to my room. Please.” It felt more intimate than it ought to have.

 

At Beca’s enthusiastic nod, Luisa slammed her hand into the button and returned to what she had been doing, stopping only when the elevator beeped for her floor.

 

When the doors swished open, Luisa lifted the smaller woman into her arms, refusing to relinquish that contact, and as Beca’s legs tightened around her waist, she carried her down the hall and to her room.

 

She faltered a little at the door, fumbling for her keycard in her back pocket as she supported Beca against the wall, but then she was through, and she laid her prize on the bed and stepped back, staring in unanticipated wonder.

 

“So, you’ve carried me over your threshold,” Beca joked. “What are you going to do with me now?”

 

It was said in jest, but Luisa suddenly felt the weight of connotations on her and she couldn’t breathe, could only stare.

 

“Eines tages…” she breathed, surprising herself, as this woman seemed to make her do again and again. _One day_ … It was far too much, far too soon and she didn’t even know why she said it, but Beca was staring at her and she tried to cover her uncertainty with bravado:

 

“It would be quicker to list what I will _not_ do with you.” She climbed onto the bed and stalked her way up Beca’s body. The predatory look had returned to her eyes but she no longer sought to defeat her quarry, instead only to capture her. And be captured in turn.

 

The joking look left Beca’s eyes and she responded simply: “Show me.”

 

Luisa lowered herself onto the pliant body under her and she whimpered at the contact. She supported herself on her arms so she didn’t put too much weight on the smaller woman, and then Beca lifted her head off the pillow and touched their lips together.

 

Luisa couldn’t hold back any more. She deepened the kiss, opening her mouth and exploring with her tongue. She brought one hand up to caress Beca’s breast, cupping it a little roughly in her haste, and then she started to fumble with the buttons of Beca’s shirt.

 

Suddenly she found herself being flipped onto her back and their positions reversed. “Woah, slow down!” Luisa pulled her hands away, feeling uncertain and a little ashamed that she was pushing too hard, and it must have shown in her face because Beca continued. “Luisa, I’m not saying stop. I want this. I just want to take it slowly. I want to enjoy every minute. I want to make _you_ enjoy every minute.” She grinned a lascivious grin that made Luisa’s stomach clench.

 

Then her face softened: “You are beautiful. You don’t need to doubt that I want you. That I want you to touch me.”

 

“I wasn’t doubting,” Luisa denied, although she had the grace to blush at that lie. “How is it that my tongue-tied little mouse is suddenly so eloquent?”

 

“I don’t know. Perhaps it’s because I’m lying here in your bed, and _I’m_ no longer doubting.” The wicked grin returned. “Let me…”

 

Beca sat up, straddling her hips, and when Luisa moved to follow she pushed her back down. “No. Let me.” She started to undo the buttons on her shirt, very, very slowly, each button revealing to Luisa another inch of creamy skin. When they were all undone, she left the two halves hanging together, and Luisa raised her hands to part the fabric.

 

“No. You have to stay still.” Luisa, self-contained, stoic Luisa who was used to being in control all the time, in the bedroom and out, was captivated. Another surprise amongst so many that night. She only managed to nod.

 

Her assent was rewarded when Beca moved her fingers to the collar of her shirt and slipped it down her shoulders. As she pulled the shirt down her arms, one sleeve got stuck at her wrist and she had to struggle with it for a moment before finally winning free and flinging the garment away in frustration: “Smooth, Mitchell,” she muttered.

 

Oddly, Luisa found that the gaffe didn’t detract from Beca’s display of control: it was just charming. She smiled, a gentle smile that she had little practice of, but that came so easily at this time, with this woman.

 

With an abashed look, Beca continued, encouraged by the expression on Luisa’s face. She reached behind herself and unclipped her bra, dropping it to the floor, revealing small, firm breasts, and then she leant back to examine their effect on the woman underneath her.

 

For her part, Luisa was speechless. It was the most beautiful sight she thought she had ever seen, and the mix of awkward yet determined was so unlike any previous lovers that found it utterly captivating.

 

“Beca…” she spoke breathlessly.

 

At that, the other woman smiled, pleased with the need in her voice. Then she leaned forward to lay her body along Luisa’s and brought their faces to within centimetres.  Luisa was unable to stop herself from arching up to taste that mouth. She felt Beca’s smile through their joined lips. Then when Beca reached out for her hand and brought it in to cup a perfect breast she lost all thought and her head dropped to the pillow bonelessly.

 

“Uhn…” was all she managed to articulate.

 

Beca laughed, but Luisa felt no mockery in it, only delight at having been the cause of such a reaction.

 

“Touch me.” Luisa couldn’t have said no to that had she wanted to. She brought her other hand up and caressed the breasts being pushed into her palms, and she raised her head back up to resume kissing those soft, soft lips, and for long moments she had no thoughts in her head at all.

 

 So lost was she that it took some time for her to realise that Beca was urging her to sit up, but eventually she did so, not breaking the kiss with the woman now in her lap, until a hand on her chest forced her to sit back, panting to regain her breath, lips tingling with loss.

 

She was not disappointed long, as hands slipped around her neck and fumbled with the knot of her halter top.

 

“May I?” The question was nervous, but looking at Beca’s face, Luisa thought it was not in fear of the answer being ‘no’, but in overwhelming anticipation of the answer being ‘yes’.

 

“Bitte. Please.”

 

The knot came undone and she felt herself being slowly exposed. The wondering look in Beca’s eyes returned Luisa’s confidence.

 

“You like what you see?” she asked with a small smirk.

 

“You know I do. You’ve known it since the first time we met, you unutterably smug, gorgeous goddess,” Beca said with a smile, no sting in the words.

 

“Yes, I suppose I have. You have quite the way with words.” Luisa was still smirking.

 

“It’s your fault. If you weren’t so delicious I would have been able to think properly.”

 

“Perhaps. But then you would not be here in my bed, so I’m afraid I offer no apologies for being so distracting.”

 

“You’re insufferable!” Beca grinned, putting her hands to her shoulders and pushing her back onto the mattress, falling forward with her. She pinned her wrists to the bed and then began to kiss her way down Luisa’s neck, nipping at her collar bone, pausing at the hollow of her throat before moving lower.

 

When Beca’s mouth closed over her breast, Luisa knew that her days of being calm and composed around this woman were forever gone.

 

When a hand reached to her zipper, she arched helplessly. “Ja. Bitte, Beca, ja.” She had lost control of English, but her need was the same in every language.

 

Beca slowly drew the zipper down and pushed her pants down over her hips as she raised them jerkily, only able to repeat: “Bitte, Beca. Jetzt.” _Please, Beca. Now_.

 

The other woman did not answer her urgency, instead leaving her position and bending to slowly undo the buckles and laces on Luisa’s boots. She slipped them off and dropped them to the floor, then she drew Luisa’s pants all the way off, taking her underwear with them. She knelt at the foot of the bed staring down in amazement, then she crawled up the body she had just revealed and lay back down on top of it.

 

Luisa wrapped her hands desperately around the woman on top of her, kissing her hungrily, and then Beca’s hand was finally where she wanted it. She parted her legs and pushed her hips up into Beca’s palm, pleading in German, and then one finger was inside of her, then two, and a thumb was on her clit, and it was the most amazing thing she had ever felt.

 

“Oh Gott,” she whimpered. She locked her arms around Beca’s back, their kiss forgotten as she could only hold on helplessly.

 

Her mind was empty of everything except the feeling of Beca’s hand on her and in her and after only a few moments she was close, so close, but it wasn’t quite right and it was too much, making her twitch in almost-pain, so she forced her brain to remember English just enough to communicate.

 

“Too much, too much,” she gasped, then, as Beca’s hand moved away: “No, don’t stop, don’t stop. It’s just… I need…”

 

“Tell me what you need,” Beca whispered in her ear, which was almost the hottest thing she had heard all night, so she tried to articulate what she wanted.

 

“A bit slower… a bit less… less with the thumb…” and Beca obliged but it was still too much, she was still too overstimulated and she thought that she couldn’t bear to be touched any more, and this was the point where, with lovers in the past, she had always given up and told them to stop, but she still needed it so badly, needed _Beca_ so badly, and she couldn’t stop.

 

“Just… stop the thumb, but please: fuck me.” At those words, Beca looked as if she was about to come right then, so Luisa cradled her face and repeated them:

 

“Fuck me, Beca,” she begged. The Kommissar, begging.

 

And then there were no words, only the feeling of Beca inside her, as if trying to merge their bodies together, and when her whole world was filled with only that feeling, she said “Now. Touch me now,” and then that thumb was back and the pressure built and impossibly built until her body could contain it no longer and it spilled out of her, muscles clenching and arching as she screamed “Beca!”, fulfilling the promise that had been made earlier in the night.

 

Beca collapsed on top of her, moving so she was pressed sweatily to Luisa’s side, and Luisa could only wrap her arms tightly around her and cradle her head on her shoulder.

 

She looked down at the woman in her arms for a long moment, filled with an emotion she couldn’t describe. “Ich könnte mich in dich verlieben,” she whispered. _I could fall in love with you_.

 

Beca turned to face her at that, so she tried to cover her vulnerability: “Never mind,” she brushed her words aside.

 

“Luisa… Ich kann dich verstehen,” Beca started awkwardly. _I can understand you_.

 

Luisa froze, stunned. She felt hopelessly exposed in a way that had nothing to do with her nakedness. She wanted to run. She turned her face away. “Du sprichst Deutsch,” she said flatly. _You speak German_.

 

“Ein bisschen,” Beca replied as she propped herself up. _A little_. “I’m sorry, I should have told you before. It’s just… I know now that you’re not, but, at the start, I thought you were playing with me, and then later… I guess I was enjoying seeing the parts of you that you try to hide.”

 

Luisa’s chest ached with shame at that, at what she would have to say next. “I’m not playing with you. But… I was at the start. I…” she still couldn’t face the other woman, see the hurt she knew would be in her eyes. “I was angry at losing, and you… with your compliments and your confusion… you were too tempting. But I’m not playing now.”

 

“Luisa. Schau mich an. Bitte.” _Look at me. Please_. She could do nothing but comply. “I think… I think I knew that, Luisa. It’s okay. But what… what changed?”

 

“Ich weiß es nicht,” she replied. _I don’t know_. She felt helpless. “Perhaps it was because you challenged me. With your talent, of course, but also with your openness. I could not be… false in front of it.”

 

Beca looked at her oddly: “You know, you’re probably the only person in the world who would describe me as open. But I guess you’re also the only person in the world who makes me babble like an idiot.” She grinned.

 

“I noticed, tiny elf. Do you still think I am physically flawless, now that you have seen all of me?” Luisa’s self-confidence returned and was boosted again when Beca blushed.

 

“Well, of course I do, because your skin is just so smooth and your legs are so long and you’re so gorgeous and your breasts are perfect and I’m going to stop now and what did I tell you about babbling like an idiot?”

 

“I find it… how do you call it? Adorable. And now… now I wish to see all of _you_.” With that she rolled over so she was hovering over the smaller woman, and reached for the zipper of her jeans.

 

“Okay, that was hot,” Beca responded, then paused, cupping Luisa’s face with her hands and gazing up at her for a moment. “Ich könnte mich in dich verlieben, auch.” _I could fall in love with you, too_.

 

Luisa just stared down at her, at this woman who had challenged her, defeated her, surprised her and captured her, and could only think that no victory in the world had ever tasted this sweet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
